Contingency
by Yusagi
Summary: Is destiny set in stone, immobile? Can disaster ever truly be prevented? And can a broken soul ever find salvation? Four broken heroes will do anything to make certain they can be. Claisaac, Iheroes!Xover speculationHiatus!fic
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This wouldn't be AU if I owned Heroes. Trust me.

AN: This is set one week after Parasite, to make things a bit clearer. 

--

_Contingency_

**Chapter 1**

Falling was nothing like flying in dreams. He'd figured that out when he took a misguided leap of faith not so long ago. _Flying_ was nothing like it seemed in dreams. He'd found that out when he'd jumped out of desperation.

This was neither of those, and definitely not landing or crashing through pavement and dirt and more old pavement or a bone-crushing aerial collision.

This was...nothing. That was really the best definition of his state of being, or rather, non-being. All descriptions seemed to lead to contradictions and tired cliches, neither hot nor cold, light nor dark, up nor down. He couldn't even rightly prove he was existing in any way shape or form aside from the meandering thought pattern that skittered on the edges of his consciousness, taking notes and forming sarcastic replies.

If this was the after life, he thought he might be best described as entirely underwhelmed by it. Except if it was, shouldn't there be other people to keep him company? Unless the blackness _was_ them. Not that it was really black at all, there was simply no light with which to discern colors.

Alright, _now_ he was just rambling off into an inane tangent, when he should have been spending his time  
(Or whatever this place had) trying to figure a way out.

The thought occurred to him that he should have just used the Cheerleader's power before landing, and he wouldn't have been in this situation at all...but...

He just couldn't stop thinking about how he could _never_, no matter the cost, let that monster get to his brother. He couldn't help feeling proud that he could be the one to save his brother this time around.

And now he was stuck here. With one _hell_ of a migrane, and a voice that sounded disconcertingly like his mother's weeping. In the book of bad signs for the dead and dying, that was right up there with the tunnel of light.

Which just so happened to be about two feet in front of him.

Fantastic.

--

He had to admit to himself, through the semi-catatonic haze the shock from his rather traumatic wounds had sent him spiralling into, it was pretty damn pathetic that all he could do was stare at the high ceiling of his apartment-turned-art studio and wish someone would come barging in without knocking (It figured the one time it wouldn't annoy him would be the time there wasn't anyone left to come _through_ it.)

As the disturbingly calm and overly smug man next to him had commented, at least most people would be screaming at this point. What a hero _he_ turned out to be...skewered to the floor by his own art utensils, utterly incapable of defending himself, and the only one on the planet who'd have cared if he lived or died had been snuck out in a _body bag_ a week ago.

Oh no, now was definitely not the time to crumble into self depreciation and debilitating guilt. Now was more likely the time to scream for help, and hope Peter had a sneak attack of conscience.

Except, his throat just refused to work properly, much to both he and his attacker's chagrin. He felt an ironic sense of relief (the completely inappropriate sort that spawns when your mind can't take the stress of a situation anymore) that out of all his disturbing and grisly paintings, his visions had not included that the madman would get the bright idea to straddle him.

Because, really, that would just be embarassing on _top_ of being dead.

He decided belatedly, as the man leaned closer to finish his murderous deed, that silence to the end was a badge of pride to mark him out against all the others this pyschotic maniac had tortured just the same.

Still. Being rescued wouldn't hurt as much.

---

She dug her hands into the pockets of her jacket to ward off some of the New York autumn chill. Shawn was talking animatedly about something fairly important, but her mind had been drifting all day.

Something had been tugging at the back of her mind for a while, like there was something important she had forgotten, like...an anniversary. It was _really_ distracting...and frankly a bit annoying.

It was a good thing Shawn hadn't brought the camera along (it turned out she ran the battery all the way down on the trip...oops.), because she just wasn't in the talking mood. She'd probably end up musing, confusing Shawn, the people who watched it, and even moreso, herself.

So much had been happening at once...maybe she just needed a good long break from it all to soak it in, and adjust to the fact that yes, somehow, a TV show was coming to life.

She chuckled softly to herself, and flashed her friend a smile. Yeah, Chandra would take that one just _great_. And when New York blew up while she was 'taking a break'...

She sighed. No, definitely no time to take a break. She'd just have to suck it up and live with it. Speaking of which, Shawn was starting to suspect she wasn't listening.

"Shawn--"

She would have loved to finish her reassurance, but she was interrupted by a blast of heat and something blindingly painful slamming into her shoulder, sending her flying back into blackness. 

**Ch End**

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AN: Yes, there WILL be an explaination for the 'TV show'


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Wouldn't you just love it if I owned Heroes? I'd be easier to hunt down and force to give it up. Promise.

AN: Was kinda busy moving lately, but here I am, back again

-- 

_Contingency_

**Chapter 2**

The lights flashing over her head probably weren't a good thing, especially considering she had no idea how she'd gotten from a random street in the vast city of New York, to a random hallway in one of its hospitals.

Yeah, those lights were definitely a _bad_ thing, along with the oxygen mask scratching her nose and cheeks. The massive headache, too.

She tried to turn her head to see if her friend was in a similar state next to her--given that he wasn't frantically trying to keep up with the cart--but the resulting stab of pain and dizzying spin of her vision deftly robbed her of her consciousness before she could make anything out but a few vague figures to her left.

--

"I'm sorry, I've done everything I can."

She didn't wait to hear whatever more the man was going to say, before walking out of the room. She didn't need to. She couldn't.

She hated the words as soon as he spoke them--hated him, even. She had always felt that they were just an excuse for not trying hard enough, and they were never truly sorry...and clearly...clearly this was the case again.

Because there was _no way_ he could have been killed. Not him.

Her arm trembled as she reached a hand out to touch the pale statue laying on the stool-matress-thing that was a complement to every stuffy rich furniture arrangement. His skin was soft and still held a lingering warmth just under the surface.

Even now she had difficulty convincing herself he wasn't just sleeping--because, after all, it wasn't like her hero would _snore_.

Her vision blurred as strong arms surrounded her shoulders and pulled her close for a meager embrace of comfort. If anything, all it did was break the dam around her tears.

---

He found it humorous that he had always heard he was supposed to 'stay away' or 'run from' the light, were he ever to see the tunnel of white light. The people who would only half-jokingly tell him that, failed to mention that it _pulled_ you into it.

He squinted against the whiteness as it enveloped him, and stifled a moment of surprise that he _could_ squint. It didn't actually hurt, despite being absurdly bright all around him, but it was almost as difficult to see anything in it as it had been to see anything in the darkness.

Was that some twisted, ironic rule of the afterlife? Because if it was, it was rather ineffectual, aside from passing annoyance. Besides, his eyes--or whatever--had already began to adjust to the sudden light, and he cold make out the form of a young woman ahead of him.

He couldn't make out many details about her, but her dark eyes were heavy with sadness as she stared at him in silence. He tried to speak to her, but found himself unable to, which was really quite annoying.

Whether she realized he had attempted to communicate with her or not, she made no indication. She simply smiled slightly, a sad, almost distracted smile, before turning and walking off into the light.

On instinct, he moved to follow after her, and abruptly found himself standing in an almost familiar apartment. Through the cracks in the blinds, white light poured through, flooding the sparsely furnished room more brightly than summer sun in Florida.

So...eternity was a perky two-room apartment on Divine Light Way? He contemplated momentarily whether it was possible to die again when you were alread dead--if it was, he would surely die of boredom. Hopefully the after-after-life would have a pool table or something.

An unfortunately familiar voice broke him from his reverie.

He sighed in resignation as he turned toward the voice. "Guess that answers my question about whether I was in heaven or hell."

--

She groaned as focus slowly returned to the fuzzy ceiling. She still had a headache, and now her shoulder hurt, too. But at least she was stationary now, and judging by the bandages keeping her from moving properly, they had treated her _without_ dissecting her.

That was a comfort, at least.

She sighed, now her parents really _would_ try and have her commited...not that this little trip to the hospital had anything to do with a TV Show coming to life.

"Unless that was the explosion--and it was just a model set everyone was seeing." She laughed softly, and ran her unbandaged hand along her bangs, glancing furtively around the room for any sign of Shawn.

He was sitting in the nearby chair, smiling at her, relief clearly written in his features. And completely unharmed. The rat.

"Good to see you're okay, MacKenzie." He said without preamble.

"What the heck _was_ that?"

He shrugged. "Car bomb. Or...I think it was an accident...I'm not sure, I didn't hear the details."

She frowned, turning her gaze up to the ceiling. "Wow...how often does that happen?"

"Too bad I didn't have the camera."

She laughed, and grinned at him. "Yeah, that would have been an interesting episode, 'MacKenzie and Shawn get blown up'!"

He grinned, and nodded, before his expression became serious again, and he leaned forward in his seat. "Did you save them?"

She blinked in confusion. "Them...? Who's them?"

"_Them!_ Peter, Isaac, the world?"

"Shawn--"

"Miss Perrin, is everything alright?" The crisp voice of a nurse turned her attention from her friend momentarily, and she glanced over at the doorway to the woman's concerned face. "I heard voices."

"Well, yeah...that was me and--" Her voice caught in her throat. She had to attribute it to being so foggy-headed that she didn't realize it before.

"...Oh..." Her words died in her throat as she looked over at Shawn, whose colors were significantly washed out.

He grimaced slightly, and shrugged. "Sorry."

**CH END**

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AN: Slightly shorter, I know, but the chapters will get longer!


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